Migraines
by mediaqueen90
Summary: When the crunch of leaves, her leaves - because she had been the only condo member too busy to fully clean the small yard, and the soft swish of a gate, her gate, resounded through the house, Fiona could all but ignore her instincts.  COMPLETED
1. Unexpected

Unexpected

_Chapter One: The Cricket Bat_

Fiona had only just settled into an easy sleep, having finished her book two hours ago, but still being restless to not sleep properly, when she heard the resounding THUD of a car door. She calmed herself down saying that she lived in a suburban society where noises like doors were expected. But when the crunch of leaves, _her leaves_ because she had been the only condo member too busy to fully clean the small yard, and the soft swish of a gate, _her gate, _resounded through the house the Irish ex-pat could all but ignore her instincts.

Tonight as she moved silently down the hall in one of Michael's old shirts she favoured her old cricket bat for a weapon. It was a faded yellow and plastic with a green rubber handle, but because it was covered in stickers and childish scrawls in permanent marker blended with splotches of blood from its victims, Fiona preferred it to the wooden ones the professionals used. That and it was actually a Kanga Cricket Bat, a parting gift from an Australian exchange student young Fiona Glenanne had befriended.

Fiona peered around the corner into the foyer waiting for the would-be victim to enter. She heard the jingling of metal then a curse as they clattered to the ground, the looming shadow in the frosted glass bending very slowly to retrieve it. _What a lazy crook_, Fiona thought, _can't even pick a lock properly_. But when the jangling started again, Fiona realised the noise were keys. Curiosity over ran the need for protection and she lowered the bat as she started into the foyer, not bothering with the lights inside as the moon provided sufficient illumination. The keys fell once more, a whimper escaping the unexpected visitor's mouth, so Fiona decided she had the element of surprise on her side.

Fiona Glenanne, however, was the one struck by surprise when she opened the door to find Michael Westen of all people, leaning against the door frame somewhat sluggishly.

"Michael?"

The prized bat clattered to the ground as Fiona immediately swapped safety for concern, almost catching the ex-spy as he stumbled in the door. At first she thought he may have been drinking, and decided to sleep somewhere closer to the bar of the time than risk driving all the way home, but when she smelt no alcohol on his breath, she knew otherwise. Then she thought someone may have tried to attack him and actually succeeded, leaving him no choice but to seek shelter at his lover's condo. But then Michael pinched his brow in what Fiona knew only to be the _Michael Westen has a headache he can't shake_ look he'd perfected early on in his dubious career. She guided him to the sofa, flicking on a lamp as they passed by it, sensing how he moved and how he sounded so she could assess the situation. Moments after the lamp turned on, Michael groaned aloud, almost trying to bury his head in his torso as he curled in on himself. Fiona cocked a brow in surprise briefly parting from him to turn the lamp off returning them to darkness. _Michael with a migraine, huh._ She mused. This time, figuring normal volume speech was sending nine-millimetres ricocheting through his head, she lowered her voice to an octave below whisper. "Michael? What's wrong?"

~!~

Michael Westen's head hurt. And anyone who knew him well would know the impact of the statement when he said it hurt more than when bullets would graze his scalp.

So, yeah, big bad-arse spy Michael Westen – the bane of most European countries – had a migraine. And one of the worst ones yet.

Despite the late hour, his landlord's downstairs club was grating on his last nerve. Which Michael was surprised he still had. On any other night, with any other ailment, Michael would have simply tuned out the doof doof of high paced disco vibrating through his floor, shaking his walls, thumping through his skull with a laser-edged ice-pick. After three hours of unwanted agony, Michael bit the bullet and got in the Charger, cursing all the way to Fiona's as the engine revving grated on his brain.

Clearly he was a mess when he arrived at Fiona's.

So now here he was, sitting on her sofa, almost curled into a ball, caving in and asking for help in the only way he knew, at the last minute in the middle of the crisis. Even Fi's whisper was slicing through his skull right now, but beggars can't be choosers and well Michael needed a little TLC right now.

He did his best to hold in the groans of pain as Fiona gently coaxed him to her room, to her bed which was by far one million times softer than his. His head felt like an anchor as she gently pushed him to lie down on the pillow, feeling an odd sort of relief as his body was levelled, after she removed his shoes and shoved his feet under her Hungarian duvet. Fiona was a bit disappointed she had to close the thick curtains tonight in her room, the rare chance of a Miami breeze being stopped at the window sill, as the woman opted for air conditioning instead. It also meant that the big full moon tonight would not supply lighting which was soft enough to encourage her to sleep. But she wasn't _really _worried about that. She had Michael to snuggle up to.

Fiona did a quick perimeter check, double checking locks and ensuring weapons were always on hand, before returning to her room and sliding in next to Michael, doing her best not to wake him from his uneasy slumber.

As she lay facing him, her hand slid under his shirt to rest on his hip, assuring Fiona that he had a somewhat stable temperature. Her hand relaxed there and ex-IRA and ex-spy alike fell into a world of unconscious.

_**A/N: I don't have a beta as yet, so any mistakes – including ones where it may seem OOC – are all mine. Chapter two, not far behind!**_


	2. Needles

Michael leaned over the toilet bowl, his empty stomach wholly disagreeing with him, just like his head was disagreeing with him, throbbing and moving in the opposite direction to his vision. He groaned and spat into the bowl, only realising then that his friend was in the doorway.

"Mikey?"

The ex-spy closed his eyes tight to the shooting pain the daylight sent through his skull. "Ugh, Sam, what?"

"You still alive?"

The small whimper was barely audible as Michael tried to push himself to his feet. Sam pretended not to hear the small noise as he helped his friend to his feet, simultaneously stretching to flush the toilet at the same time. He kept a steady hand as Michael rinsed his mouth from the tap, before wiping his face on the hand towel and motioning to Sam he was ready. The fact that Sam had to mostly carry his friend told him how sick his friend was but at the same time freaked him out. He'd seen Michael get back on the horse almost immediately after someone had tried to kill him, when he was in no shape himself to be of much use. But to see his friend crippled by something so trivial (well maybe not trivial) as a migraine is just creeped the hell out of him. Sam eased Michael back onto the bed, supporting his head as he lay down, knowing the younger man would be grateful for it. he pulled up the blanket , double-checked the blinds were shutting out all the light, and was about to ease the door shut behind him when:

"Sam? Where am i?"

"Fi's, Mike. You came over late last night."

""

Sam watched his friend roll over and fall back almost instantaneously into sleep.

He frowned as he padded softly down the hall to where Madeline was reading a home decorating magazine, oohing and ahhing at colour samples. She looked up as he pulled a beer from the fridge.

"How is he?"

"I think he might need some heavy pain meds. He doesn't remember coming here. But when I told him, he just brushed it off. Looking at paint for the sunroom?"

"What do you reckon of a nice turquoise? And I think I have a script that he got for migraine medication. I made him get one when he came back to Miami."

"He has a history? And I think maybe Peach or forest leaves. You want the walls to match the rest of the house."

"That's true. I'll pop home and find it. Oh you might wanna call Fiona. It's a needle injection. Only thing that helps."

"Was about to anyway, Maddie."

~!~

Fiona was meeting with a potential client when Sam Axe called. She excused herself from the table at Carlito's .

"How is he?" Concern hung onto every particle of her voice.

"I think he just up-chucked enough to gross out a hobo. Listen, Maddie said you should come home. I think we might need some help administering medication."

She rolled her eyes, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Can't you just rub his throat, hold his mouth shut or something?"

There was a long pause. "It's an injection Fi, Madeline says it's the only thing that works on them."

Fiona was temporarily quiet. Madeline had mentioned to Fiona this morning that Michael had a history of really bad migraines...

"Okay, I'll be there. Give me fifteen minutes."

~!~

Back at the Condo, Fiona and Sam both held down a part of the unconscious Michael Westen, while Madeline swabbed and readied Michael's arm, near his elbow. Fiona was sitting almost completely on top of him except for where Madeline had his arms, while Sam maintained the legs, holding them down as hard as he could without bruising the kid. The moment the needle was within a hair's breadth from his skin, blue eyes shot open and Michael suddenly started to buck, trying to dislodge whatever was on his chest. Fiona did her best to stabilise his arm, while trying to calm him down.

"Michael! Michael! Hey, calm down! It's ok! It's just me, your Mom and Sam. Easy!" she half shouted.

Michael settled slowly, slurring "Whatreyoudooin?" Fiona brushed hair off his forehead, before cupping his cheek.

"Just trying to make you better. You're Mom found your migraine meds." Michael half-heartedly bucked Fiona before looking away sulkily. She was bemused, this was a side of Michael not many people had the chance to see.

"Coulda woke m-up" he mumbled.

Fiona glanced at Sam who motioned for Madeline to inject it while he was distracted.

"Would you have let us if you knew about it?" a slight imperceptible nod was all she got. It was kind of heart-breaking, really; her fiercely independent boyfriend had been reduced to the behaviour of a small child.

Madeline, glanced and nodded at Fiona, letting her know it was done. She had placed a cotton ball and band-aid where the needle had gone in, and Sam let go of his friend's legs. Fiona slid from on top of Michael to laying next to him, whispering small silly talk, encouraging her lover to sleep.

Madeline and Sam snuck out quietly, not fully closing the door, but relieved that it had not gone as bad as it could have.

"She's a good influence on him, you know." Sam said, half trying to small talk, half trying to not be scared by how weak his friend was. "Never seen anyone tame him that well. I'm just a little upset he didn't tell us about the migraines."

Madeline sighed, opening a window and lighting a cigarette to blow out it.

"When he was younger he would never tell us when he got one. He would just say he was sick and sleep for days at a time." Madeline drew in, the lit end glowing red. "God it was all me and his brother could do to keep his father out of his room."Silence filled the room as Madeline remembered unhappy memories. Painful memories. "His school called me one day, it was half way through the day, they said he'd almost passed out in Gym class. The nurse said his friend had told him it was just a bad headache. I figured out that it was really bad migraines not too long after. Made him promise me to tell me about them so we can catch it early."

"Did he ever do it?"

"Tell me? Of course not. But when he started drinking a lot of energy drinks I figured it out. Turns out some ingredient in them catches them before it gets too bad. Just becomes a bad headache that is manageable with strong painkillers."

Sam frowned. He was a bit surprised when he'd found a few six packs of energy drinks in the cupboard at the loft one day. That explained the odd tastebuds.

"What about the injections?"

"If we don't nip it in the bud, it's the only thing that helps."

~!~

The migraine held on for almost another day before Michael was able to get out of bed without the possibility of passing out. And when he did emerge from the bedroom he found the most peculiar sight.

Fiona's kitchen was covered in takeaway tubs, guns and paperwork. He had been barely aware that Sam and Fi had taken on an easy job, but what with his health the last couple of days he was too embarrassed to say otherwise. A makeshift bed had been made on the couch, with Sam's Glock on the table next to lounge. His mother's purse rested on the kitchen table. She must have slept in the spare room upstairs.

The sound of a toilet flushing and tap turned on and off before Madeline walked out, drying her hands.

"Oh, Michael! You're awake!" Michael hissed at his mother's cheery voice, indicating it was still a bit painful for him at the moment. She smiled apologetically and handed him a cup of what looked like very watered down apple juice. When he sipped it, his lip curled at the tang and bubble of the drink.

"Some energy drink. Thought it might help in small doses honey."

Fiona swept through the doorway, cheery and laden with a bag of groceries. She placed the bag on the bench and turned to Michael. She pursed her lips as she analysed him. His hair was every which way, three day growth had created a rather handsome darkness to his face but underneath that was the still slightly pale complexion of someone who'd been sick and not seen any daylight. Assessing that his skinniness was due to not eating large amounts, she seemed satisfied and went over, hugging him, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek.

"Glad you're ok," she whispered in his ear "But you owe me a new bathroom set."

Michael frowned. "huh?"

"You got sick on my bath mat before you reached the toilet."


End file.
